imagine she is as thin as a doe
glassy eyes like a dead bird
it is not here that you will kiss her,
but here, tomorrow
what is a place but a time?
do not glower at me, my lord,
i have given my soul to you.
it is quiet, even when we make allowances for
pain.
imagine she is as thin as a doe
glassy eyes like a dead bird
skin not pallid, but pallor;
pink veins and lips full to taste your sinew
an embrace allusive of sublime ruptures
sallow eyes and face,
she growls at you, a low tremor